


To Make Brokenness an Art

by LittleDeath



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Achievement Hunters, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Depression, Drug Use, Drugs, Fake AH Crew, Guns, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mental Instability, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, References to Depression, Slow Burn, Smut, Violence, gta v - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-01-25 21:25:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12541560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleDeath/pseuds/LittleDeath
Summary: Though he wouldn’t admit it out loud, Michael had made a habit out of self-destruction. He was bad tempered, violent, addictive, and just an all-round asshole really.Gavin happened to be the idiot pulled into the crossfire of Michael’s downfall.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't wrote *proper* smut before. This might be a bit slow-burn so stick along for a while.
> 
> Honestly, I'm just here because I need to convince myself that my self-destruction is recoverable. Here for a good time, not a long time and all that jazz.

“What isn’t stopping me shooting you right now, asshole?” 

Geoff was leant against the doorframe to Michael’s room, his hand far away from the Glock that Michael knew he always had tucked in his back pocket. It was a hollow threat, meant to show that Geoff really cared about him. 

“Do it.” Michael shrugged, and went to sit up. He had been face-down on the ground when Geoff had walked in, and from the ache in his neck it seemed he’d been there all night. “Better than this fucking pain.”

Michael managed to crawl to the edge of his bed, pulling himself up and flopping onto the covers. “Fuck, my head hurts.”

“Yeah I bet.” Geoff kicked at an empty bottle that sat near the door. “You gonna get a shower anytime today? It fucking stinks in here.”

Michael shrugged again, not making the effort to look towards Geoff. “I don’t know.”

“Asshole, you live here for pretty much free so get your fucking ass out of bed and shower. It’s my house and you’re stinking up the goddamn place.” Geoff had his ‘dad mode’ voice on. The voice which said, ‘don’t fuck with me because I’ll fuck with you twice as bad’, so Michael found himself groaning, clambering to his feet, and stumbling towards his en suite. 

He shut the door behind him, locking it, and looking towards himself in the mirror. 

“Fuck.” Michael sighed, running a hand through his greasy curls. 

He was a state. His clothes were dishevelled and creased, and there was a dark stain on the front of his jeans that could be piss, vomit, or booze, but Michael wasn’t going to take the time to check. He stripped off and threw his clothes into the corner of the bathroom to be dealt with later. He turned on the shower and the room soon filled up with warm steam. It was times like these when Michael was thankful for Geoff. Not for making him get up (fuck him for that), but for being a rich bastard with expensive showers that were instantly warm and had the water pressure of a magical fucking waterfall.

Michael let his body rest against the tiled wall and let the shower soak him till his skin was red. He grabbed a towel, wrapped it round his waist and trudged out of the bathroom. 

“Good morning, sunshine.” Jack said with a sarcastic sweetness as Michael walked into the kitchen. 

Michael flipped a quick middle finger in Jack’s direction before rooting through the cupboards for food. 

“Morning?” He heard Jeremy scoff from the sofa at the other side of the room. “It’s almost seven pm.”

“Morning is when I wake up.” Michael replied groggily, pouring some cereal in a bowl, and walking to join Jeremey on the sofa. 

Jeremy smiled at Michael as he sat down. “Rough night?”

Michael shrugged, “I guess, I don’t fucking remember. “and began shovelling cereal into his mouth. 

Geoff sauntered into the room with Ryan in tow. They took to the sofa sat opposite Jeremy and Michael, and Jack, getting the hint that this was discussion time, quickly sat at the other side of Michael. 

“Nice of you to join the land of the living, asswipe.” Geoff said grumpily, but he had a small smirk plastered on his lips, so Michael knew he was in the clear. 

Geoff coughed to clear his throat, the ‘everyone’s best mate’ Geoff was quickly replaced with ‘leader of one of the most infamous gangs in San Andreas’. 

“So tomorrow there’s a coke drop off at the South Port. Big police movement, they’re taking it all to be destroyed at the downtown department or some shit, I don’t know. All I know is this is off the market drugs, stuff we’ve got no competition for.” Geoff explained, his voice stern and to the point. 

“Except the cops.” Ryan interjected. Geoff shushed him with a wave of his hand. 

“Except the cops, but we can deal with them as we always do.” Geoff continued. “I only got this info a few hours ago so I need you on top of your game to pull this shit off.”

The group nodded as Geoff began explaining the statistics of their upcoming heist. 

* * * 

The plan had been relatively simple by their standards; infiltrate the port before the police arrived, re-establish communications with the cargo ship and direct them to the small port at Paleto Bay, much further north. Disguised as the police, they would take the coke in a (previously stolen) armoured van to their safe house back in West Vinewood. Simple enough, but Michael knew it never would be.

“Michael you’ll be at Paleto Bay.” Geoff stated, earning a small groan from Michael.

“Geoff, that’s the boring job.” Michael complained. In the South Port there would be violence and guns and murder, and he needed that in his system. Paleto Bay meant being stuck in a stolen Police uniform and basically being subtle, something Michael would rather not be. 

Geoff shrugged off Michael’s complaints, “Look, you’re the most standard citizen looking of us all. You’re baby faced, and you look trustworthy. Plus, I don’t think you’ve been fully sober in months and the dark at Paleto will mean no one will see how fucking blood shot your eyes are.”

Michael couldn’t deny the logic in Geoff’s words, but grumbled under his breath regardless. Fuck his stupid baby face. He wanted to shoot guns, but Geoff was the boss and there was no arguing with him. 

Jeremy slapped him on the back once Geoff has finished the briefing and left the room. 

“It’s not too bad, man.” Jeremy said sympathetically. 

“Dude, you’re fucking front line guns blazing. Don’t give me that false sympathy bullshit.” Michael huffed.

Jeremy sighed, “Look, just don’t drink as much and maybe he’d put you on firearms.” He seemed genuinely caring, and he likely was, but Michael just shrugged it off. 

“Whatever, I’m gonna chill before the shit hits the fan.” Michael replied. The drop off was at 11pm the next day, but they’d have to establish their positions and scout the areas before the cops got there. 

Jeremy seemed slightly uncomfortable with Michael’s obvious unhappiness towards his role in the upcoming heist, but Michael was never the one for a ‘bromance moment’ so Jeremy didn’t continue the conversation. 

Making sure his towel was still firmly tied round his waist, Michael stood and left, dropping his empty cereal bowl in the sink as he passed. 

* * * 

Midday arrived, and the group was ready. Michael watched them sadly as they headed South to the port in a car packed full of weaponry. He sighed, and headed northward on route 14 in the black armoured van. He was still carrying a colt pistol tucked in the holster on his belt. It was a police issued weapon and wouldn’t stand out against the Los Santos police uniform he was wearing. 

He drove quietly to the port, car radio turned off in case his phone buzzed with information from the group in South Port. If everything went to plan he’d receive a phone call from Geoff at eight o’clock. Then he’d move into position and wait for the shipment to arrive. 

Michael sat in the van with his feet up on his dash, dozing off every now and then in the afternoon sun as he waited. 

At eight o’clock on the dot his phone buzzed. 

He answered the blocked number quickly and was greeted by Geoff’s voice. “All good. The cargo was coming from the north, so they’ll reach you earlier than we expected. It’s a speed boat as well, not a cargo ship.” 

“Your intel is slacking.” Michael noted. 

“Shut up.” Geoff replied snappily. “You’re the last step of this job, so just get the coke and head home.”

“No problem, boss.” Michael replied but Geoff had already ended the call. 

Michael rummaged in the glovebox and pulled out a pair of binoculars, and looked out into the open ocean. There, fast approaching, was the police speed boat. Seems the delivery would be here a lot sooner. 

Turning on the ignition, Michael drove closer to the port so there would be a shorter transfer distance. He turned on the front lights, the sky quickly getting darker, and unlocked the back to the van. Everything was ready, so he walked the length of the short pier and waited. 

A middle-aged man, dressed in police gear the same as his own arrived at the port. He threw out the rope which Michael used to tie the boat in place, and then took the man’s hand to help him onto the dock. 

“You Officer Jones?” The man asked. He had a deep southern accent with an annoyed tone to his voice.

“Yes sir.” Michael replied. He tried his hardest to sound like a young police officer, perky and overly-enthusiastic. “Sorry about the sudden destination change.” 

The older man huffed. “Yeah, an early warning would have been nice with that.”

Michael nodded sympathetically. “Unfortunately, there was a location leak, so we had to act quickly and down scale the operation.”

“A location leak? God, these young cops make rookie mistakes.” The man complained, but he seemed happy to just get this job over with. “Fancy helping me move this stuff to the van?”

Michael nodded and began moving the boxes from the boat and into the back of the van. There were seven boxes in total, each big enough to fit in at least 5kg of coke. With the amount of coke there, fuck, that was at least two million dollars’ worth. The last box was put into the van and Michael shook hands with the older policeman. 

“I’ll be off then, Laddy.” The older cop said. “Hope the trip back to depot goes well.” 

“Same to you, sir.” Michael replied, and helped him back onto the speed boat. He untied it from the docks and waved a goodbye as the cop turned the boat around and headed back north into the ocean. 

He waited till he was out of sight before climbing into the back of the van and opening the closest box. The white powder was separated into kilogram bags, each labelled with an evidence stamp from the San Andreas police department. Michael smiled, admiring the work. 

Digging his phone from his pocket he dialled Geoff’s burner phone.

“We’re all good.” Michael said, picking up one of the bags and smiling at the weight of it. “The stuff is all here.” 

“Great.” Geoff replied, his ‘boss voice’ still in place. “Get that back to the safehouse and we’ll call it a night.”

That’s when the bright flash of a camera snapped Michael back to attention. He dropped the bag and quickly pulled the colt from his holster, pointing it towards the source of the light.

“Fucking step forward, cunt!” Michael shouted. 

From behind a bus a man dressed in a black hoody and dark jeans stepped forward. He was kind of gangly looking, with a terrified look plastered across his face.

“Who the fuck are you?” Michael demanded, stepping towards the man who quickly cowered and raised his hands in the air.

“I-I’m Gavin.” The man squawked, “Please, don’t shoot me.”

“Give me one good reason not to.” Michael made another step forwards. He was a mere few metres away from Gavin now, his gun pointed towards his head.

There was a distorted shout from behind him. “Gavin?!”

Michael turned for a second, not wanting to take his eyes off the civilian. There was no one there, the shout had come from Geoff. Michael had dropped the phone in the van in his rush to grab his gun, leaving Geoff to hear everything from the other end. 

Walking backwards with his gun still pointed at a very scared Gavin, Michael grabbed his phone with one hand and held it to his ear. 

“You know this shit wad?” Michael spat.

“Fuck, yes, don’t fucking shoot the idiot.” Geoff quickly fumbled out his words. “Just get him in the van and take him back to the safe house.”

“Who the fuck is he?” Michael still had his gun trained on Gavin, Geoff’s words not easing any suspicions. 

Geoff sighed, “That little shit is where I get my intel from.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it's short. I was lacking inspiration since I spent most of it on finishing my plan for nanowrimo. Hope you enjoy it regardless.

Michael groaned angrily, holstering his gun, and pointing towards the van door. 

“Get the fuck in.” He demanded. 

Gavin moved sheepishly towards the passenger side, staying as far away from Michael as possible. 

“Where are we going?” He asked, as Michael climbed into the driver’s seat after slamming the back door shut and locking up the goods. 

“I’m taking you to the safehouse.” Michael shot an angry side glance to the gawky man, “You got some explain to do.”

Gavin’s mouth opened and shut, looking for words but them deciding to instead keep quiet. 

Michael starts the engine, but turns to look at Gavin before he sets off. He sticks out a hand. “Phone.”

“Wha…” Gavin is cut off by a quick slap to the back of the head. 

“I said phone,” Michael sarcastically smiles and lets the sarcasm drip heavy over his words, “please.”

Gavin sighs and pulls a phone from the pocket of his jeans.

“How many photos did you take?” Michael asks.

Gavin sighs, “Just the one.”

“Okay.” Michael quickly finds the photo and deletes it. Gavin holds out his hand to take the phone back, but Michael swiftly throws it out the window. 

“My phone!” Gavin yelled, “I bought that.”

“I don’t give a fuck.” Michael replied, backing up and turning to leave the car park, making sure to run over the phone as he left, smirking at the groan of complaint that Gavin made. 

*

“Geoff!” Michael shouted as soon as the safehouse door was locked and the van was safely inside. He jumped out of the van quickly, grabbing Gavin by the scruff of his collar and heading up the stairs that lead to the living area of their safehouse.

The rest of the group was already sat on the couch, their part of the heist swiftly over and done once they redirected the boat. Ryan was looking distinctly charcoal-y, covered in soot from an apparent fire or some shit, but his eyes were bright underneath his face paint and Michael could tell he’d missed out on the action. He shoved Gavin towards Geoff.

“What the fuck is this shit.” Michael demanded. “Appears out of a fucking bus taking pictures of me with the coke, and then you tell me he’s your intel?!” 

He’s angry, and turns towards the bar, already looking for his usual response to a foul mood. He finds the whiskey and begins pouring himself a glass whilst Geoff looks somewhat sheepish.

“Look, I’ll admit I don’t know what he was doing there.” He stops and turns to face Gavin, “Yeah. What were you doing there?”

Gavin made a noise that could only be described as a squawk, and flapped his arms as if trying to fly away from the situation. “Some gang said they’d pay me money for a picture of one of you lot.”

Geoff climbed up off the sofa and took a step towards Gavin. “What do you mean a gang paid you money for a picture of one of us.”

Gavin instinctually stepped backwards and raised his hands up defensively. “I didn’t say I would 100% do it. I’d just think about it.”

“Why?” Geoff was fast closing the distance between the pair. His voice becoming angrier.

“I needed the money okay, intel work doesn’t pay very much.” Gavin was against the kitchen counter now, hands up in a weak attempt to block his face. “I got evicted, alright.”

Geoff’s face softened at Gavin’s admittance. “You didn’t say anything about that. You know I would have paid you more.”

Gavin scoffed, “Yeah, like I’d ring you up and just be all _‘hey Geoff can I have more money’_.” He shook his head and looked down sadly. “I just set this all up to try and make some money from you for the info and then get almost as much from another gang for a photo of your boy over there.”

Gavin nodded towards Michael who was leaning against the bar at the other side of the room. Michael responded with a swift middle finger. “Not forgiven, cunt.”

Geoff sighed and put an arm round Gavin. “He’s struggling, Mikey. Remember when you were in his position.”

Michael groaned, reaching for the whiskey bottle to top up his glass again. “I didn’t try to sell my friends out, though. I’m not a cunt.”

Gavin went to protest, but was shushed by Geoff. “He’s a good kid, he’s just not had us to guide him.”

An idea seemed to strike in Geoff’s mind. He smiled widely, “Hey, why don’t you just crash here? It’d be good to have our intel boy under tabs and you’d get a place to stay out of it.”

Gavin grinned back, “That sounds top, Geoff.”

“That sounds top, Geoff.” Michael mimicked, grabbing an unopened whiskey bottle along with the one he had already started and shoved past the pair. “Fuck you both, I’m off to bed.”

“Michael…” Geoff called but was shut off by Michael slamming the door. 

*

Michael turned up his radio, letting whatever the fuck was on fill his room with background noise. He did not have the time to deal with another whiny twat in his life. Gavin was already getting on his nerves with his gawky limbs, stupid big nose and annoying accent that _had_ to be put on. 

He opened the window to his room, rested the bottles of whiskey he’d taken on the window ledge and just _breathed_. The city was bustling beneath him, cop sirens blaring, distant gunshots, people shouting. It was so alive. 

He took a swig from the opened bottle. The heist had been successful. Nothing significant had gone wrong. Except now they had a stupid British boy camping in their spare room. Something about him set Michael on edge. He just seemed so unprofessional. He left the flash on his phone when trying to take a secret photo, for fucks sake. 

Michael shook his head. What the hell did Geoff see in this asshole?

He left the bottle of whiskey and went to his bed side table, rooting through it before pulling out a bowl and a grinder. He rested them on the table and began topping the bowl up with the weed from his grinder. Whilst listening to the racket of Los Santos and the music churn out of the radio, he grabbed his lighter and began to smoke, sinking back onto his bed and trying to enjoy his version of peace and quiet.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Agh, another short chapter. Sorry guys. I hope my currently quick updates make up for it (though this is about to change since NaNoWriMo starts tomorrow). Whoops.
> 
> *trigger warning: drug usage depicted in this chapter*

It was the early hours of the morning when Michael began to feel the come down hit. He was in the placid moment, where the weed was slowly exiting his system but the lightheartedness of his high still pulsed through his brain. He needed more. 

He rose off his bed, rolling ungracefully onto the floor and headed down to the garage of the safe house where the stolen armoured van sat, the loot of the days heist still there. Michael opened the door and went to the box he’d opened earlier. There sat those glorious bags, filled with the white powder that took him to a place he loved. 

Grabbing the closet, Michael cut gently along the seem of the plastic, just enough for him to take a few grams out for himself. 

“What are you doing?”

Michael jumps out of his skin at the sound of Gavin’s obnoxious British accent, the weed from earlier still numbing his normally acute senses. 

“What do you think?” Michael replies with a grunt, rooting in his pocket for an empty baggy he probably had on him. He found one in his back pocket and emptied a little bit from the larger bag into his small one, smiling as he did so.

He turned to leave, shutting the van door behind him. Gavin was still stood by the stairs. 

“Nosy fucker, aren’t you?” Michael laughed lightly at his own joke, going to walk past Gavin and return to his room.

“I’ll tell Geoff.” Gavin stuttered as his sentence began. 

Michael smirked. He scared Gavin slightly. Maybe it was the fact he’d pulled a gun on him only a few hours earlier, maybe it was the fact he’d just had a knife out, or maybe it was the fact he was a unstable druggie, whatever it was, Michael couldn’t be happier that he set the scrawny Brit on edge. 

Michael turned to face Gavin, stepping closer and invading his space. “Do it, I don’t give a fuck.”

Gavin swallowed. “He’ll be pissed your taking the drugs. That’s lost money.” 

Michael laughed, “Then he can’t take it from my paycheck. I’ll buy the fucking drugs off him if he’s that unhappy about it.” 

Gavin opens and shuts his mouth; visually thinking over what to say. 

“He doesn’t like you taking drugs.” Gavin finally said as Michael had already started up the stairs. 

“Yeah?” Michael turned back, quickly getting into Gavin’s personal space and pushing him against the wall with a light shove. “Well, whoop-di-doo.”

Gavin tried to remain confident, “No-one here likes you taking drugs.”

Michael laughs again, “No shit Sherlock, you got any other brilliant sparks of wisdom because you’re really starting to piss me off.”

Again, Gavin is lost for words, his mouth opening and shutting once more. 

“Look cunt, I don’t like you.” Michael’s temper quickly rose. He was tired of this babbling idiot acting like he was part of the gang already and trying to tell him what to do. “You’re fucking obnoxious. You act like everyone is your fucking best friend and I can’t stand it. You’re useless for fucks sake, like what the fuck is Geoff thinking using an idiot who doesn’t turn off his fucking flash when he’s trying to take a photo as our intel guy.” 

Gavin remained silent, eyes darting everywhere to try and look at anything besides Michael’s face. Michael huffed, “God, you’re a chicken aren’t you. You’re such a baby.”

With a smirk, Michael punched the wall near Gavin’s head, making Gavin cry out and duck downwards. 

Michael laughed. “Fucking pussy.” 

He turned and went back up the stairs, leaving a Gavin still crouched against the wall, still processing what just happened. 

*

Michael sat cross-legged on his bed. He pulled out his knife and small bag of cocaine, making a small line along the blunt side of the blade. Swiftly, he snorts it all, throws his knife onto the bedside table and leans back onto his elbows. 

It starts slow, building outwards as he starts to feel hyper aware of the blood pumping through his nose. Then the dopamine begins to build and he’s smiling. Outside the sound of the city sounds sharper, and every changing note of the symphony it’s playing seems to touch his skin. He feels electric, light, floating on air. 

Michael rubs his eyes hard, letting the shapes of darkness fill his vision and then watching as they become bright and colourful, dancing round his room as his senses rage wild. Everything was alight and he felt his skin warm as it burned. 

This was what he loved. This is what he craved. 

“See we’re back in the usual state.” 

Geoff is stood at Michael’s door again, arms crossed and glaring. Michael’s head hurts and his eyes ache. He’s not sure if he slept at all last night or if he spent it in a elevated daze from the cocaine. 

“I’m a creature of habit.” Michael groans out, his throat feeling like sandpaper.

Geoff shakes his head. “You really took the coke?” 

Michael scoffs, “Like a few grams, fuck. I barely dented your supply.” Geoff didn’t seem impressed by Michael’s words. “I mean take it out of my paycheck, I really don’t care.”

“I know you don’t. That’s why I’m worried.”

Michael shook his head, “You don’t need to worry. I know what I’m doing.”

Geoff raised an eyebrow. “Somehow I doubt that.” He went to leave but paused with one hand on the door handle. “Your nose is bleeding, by the way.” 

Michael brought a hand up to his nose, rubbing the dark redness off with the back of his hand. He tried to pretend he didn’t hear the sad sigh from Geoff as the older man left the room.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> University has been so stressful recently. I'm working my ass off and sadly my NaNoWriMo attempt has been a casualty of it all. I still want to creatively vent, but the strictness of my NaNoWriMo story is making it difficult to get that vent there. Instead I wrote a chapter for this, so enjoy. 
> 
> Thank you to all the people who have left kudos. It means so much <3 And shout out to ReyDoneGoofed who left a lovely comment. Thank you so much for the support!

Ryan and Geoff had left a few hours ago to arrange a buyer for their coke, deciding smaller numbers would be better in order to not cause suspicion or make the buyer on edge. With that in mind, Michael found it hilarious that Geoff had chosen to bring Ryan with him. Even without his mask he was a foreboding site, his skin apparently permanently stained by black face paint he wore underneath it. There was nothing about Ryan that made someone feel at ease, but Michael had been on a come-down when they declared they were leaving so he’d barely even noticed to protest. 

Michael was in the kitchen pouring his usual bowl of bland cereal when Jeremy and Gavin walked in, laughing at something one of them had said. Gavin quickly quietened at the sight of Michael.

“Morning Jeremy.” Michael nodded towards the shorter lad, “Morning cunt.” He continued, shooting a glare towards Gavin who gulped nervously.

“He’s all bark.” Jeremy said, an attempt to diffuse the tension that was fast filling the air around them. 

Michael laughed and ate a spoonful of his cereal; dismissing Jeremy’s statement. Jeremy directed Gavin towards the sofa with a nod of his head. They turned on the Xbox and began flicking through the games for something to play. 

“He’s making himself at home, isn’t he?” Michael commented, watching as Gavin eagerly pointed out games he enjoyed and thought they could play.

“He can hear you.” Jeremy replied with a banter to his voice. He wasn’t afraid of Michael’s quick anger. He’d been around Michael for years and they’d reached a level of bonding and trust that wouldn’t easily be broken by some snarky comments. That was needed when you were in a violent gang though; your lives depended upon each other and that closeness was vital. It was part of the reason why Gavin pushed Michael’s buttons so easily. He wasn’t trustworthy no matter how much Geoff doted on him. 

“He’s not capable of speaking for himself though, is he?” Michael pointed out, throwing the remains of his cereal in the bin, and dropping the bowl into the sink.   
Jeremy cast a quick glance to Gavin who was fast becoming uncomfortable at Michael’s comments. He awkwardly tapped his hands on his legs, as if trying to distract himself and act like he was preoccupied. 

Michael left the kitchen area and sat down on the sofa next to the one Jeremy and Gavin sat on. Gavin shuffled in his seat.

“What’s your deal, Michael?” Jeremy asked, very aware of what Michael was trying to do. “Why are you winding him up?”

“I’m not doing anything.” Michael stated, leaning back, and casting a dead eyed stare at Gavin. 

“Don’t be an ass. You’re trying your damn hardest to make him uncomfortable.” Jeremy scoffed.

Michael nodded at Gavin. “You uncomfortable, bro?”

Gavin shrugged and averted his eyes. 

“See,” Michael pointed towards Gavin with a smirk. “Not uncomfortable.”

“It’s just because he’s scared you’re going to stab him.” Jeremy rolled his eyes and went back to look at the TV screen. He eventually decided on the latest Call of Duty.

Michael laughed, “Oddly specific.”

He squinted his eyes and looked back towards Gavin who was now concentrating on the TV, despite the game being in a loading screen. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t have waved a night at him last night.” Jeremy stated.

Michael snickered. “I didn’t wave a knife at him at all. I just scared him a bit.” He tilted his head as he thought over Jeremy’s statement. “Did he tell everyone what happened?”

Gavin glanced to Jeremy quickly, but not fast enough for Michael not to see. 

“He did, didn’t he.” Michael leant forwards, “What’s your plan here, cunt? Try and seem all sweet and innocent whilst I look like some druggie loose cannon? I mean awesome but what does that accomplish? It’s not like they don’t know that already.”

“He’s just worried about you.” Jeremy sighed, putting his controller down and turning to look at Michael. “Stop getting up in his shit. He’s been part of the crew for years, Geoff just kept him out of it.”

“Why though?” Michael wasn’t keen on the way everyone was quickly piling onto this Gavin hype train. Something felt off.

“Because he’s just a kid. Shut up, Michael.” Geoff had returned, and he was standing cross-armed behind Michael with a disgruntled looking Ryan in tow. 

“Come on, Geoff. I was just a kid too when you picked me up. Didn’t stop you from throwing me into the front line.” Michael scoffed, and stood up to match Geoff’s height.

Geoff sighed. “He’s not from the same background as you.”

“So, he’s some posh British twat who started hacking because mommy and daddy’s money wasn’t enough?” Michael was fast getting mad. Nothing could validate the sort of babying Gavin was getting. They were just all so happy to let him into the gang, all so happy to be pally-pally and play games with him and choose him over Michael. It just felt like bullshit. 

“Michael, you don’t know shit so shut up please.” Ryan interjected. 

Michael threw his hands up in the air. “You know what, fuck this shit, fuck all of you, I’m out.”

He pushed between Geoff and Ryan, heading down the stairs towards the garage. He grabbed the keys to whatever supercar and clicked them, not bothered which car door opened. He climbed into the car and drove out the garage, heading to anywhere but here. 

*

Michael drove out of the city and headed out onto the Great Ocean Highway that looped around the entire island. The clock in the dashboard said the time was 3:38pm and the sun was still high in the sky. Michael drove until he reached North Chumash beach on the West of the island. The sun was beginning to dip when he reached the beach. He parked the car in the car park and headed down the wooden steps that led onto the sand. Behind him, cars continued to drive on the highway, but it was quieter than the city ever was. The lap of the ocean nulled the sounds of tires and horns. 

Michael sat down on the sand and watched the waves. His head hurt, and he found himself rubbing at his right knuckle absentmindedly. 

Looking down, Michael noticed that his knuckles were grazed and lightly scabbed. Somehow, he’d not realised that by punching the wall last night he’d messed up his hand. His come-down must have lasted longer than he thought if he’d not noticed at all that his hand was badly scrapped. 

He held out his hand in front of him, moving his fingers and watching as the skin over his knuckles stretched and moved. The scabs moved and the slightest bubble of red pooled around the edge of one of them. Michael rubbed at the small patch of blood.

There was so much badness in it. The drugs, the alcohol, the bad things he did, all compacted into this liquid. 

Michael found his thoughts drifting back to the gangly Brit who pissed him off so much. Why did he care about what habits he had? Everyone else knew, and maybe it annoyed them, and they wanted him to change too, but they didn’t voice it. They let him get on with it and were just there to pick up the pieces when he was at his worst. But Gavin was different. He voiced this displeasure and tried to tell him not to, albeit it rather badly. 

What annoyed him was that he felt it get to him. He never used to contemplate the badness in his blood. He was proud of his corrupted ways, the way the highs made him feel alive, the way the booze made him forget, the way the shots from his guns made his heart beat in time. What gave Gavin the permission to question him. 

Fucking nothing. 

Michael squeezed the bridge of his nose and scrunched his eyes shut. His head was pounding. The aftermath of a night of cocaine and whiskey. 

It was getting dark now and he wasn’t sure how long he’d been sat on the beach in silence. Raising to his feet, he dusted the sand off his jeans and walked back to the car. He couldn’t camp out here all night, despite how much he’d like to be out of that house. 

He cared for the rest of them more than he couldn’t stand Gavin, so he’d deal with it for the sake of the group. Though dealing with it did not mean handling it all quietly.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a playlist for this story. I'm not sure how to do a direct link on it so just have the spotify url, I guess; https://open.spotify.com/user/neried/playlist/2WVKxH9jVfIB2hMHUpDSAc
> 
> I've drank too much whiskey for someone sat in their bedroom alone. God, I'm sad.

Michael returned to the building by the time night had set in. The gang was sat on the couches still and the chatted whilst eating Chinese food. 

“Hey Michael,” Jack said when he walked in and tapped at the empty space on the sofa where they sat. “Want some?”

The chatter didn’t die down, as he had expected, and he was grateful that it didn’t. His friends didn’t hold grudges, they just got on with shit.

Michael joined Jack on the sofa and took the offered plate and cutlery. Jeremy and Gavin sat on the sofa to the left of him as they had been when he left, whilst Ryan and Geoff were on the one opposite. It was almost like a family meal time. Though without the whole being related thing. 

Michael moved around the rice on his plate, letting the conversations wash over him and not really take it in. They were on about a TV show or something. Michael couldn’t remember the last time he’d sat and watched a TV programme all the way through. He was so quick to bore than an hour long show really couldn’t hold his attention. He let the conversation waft onwards and silently played at the food on his plate, somehow not hungry despite the long day. 

The group began to head off to their own rooms as it got later. Geoff was first to go as always, rubbing his eyes with the back of a tattooed hand and throwing out his usual “G’night fuckers”. Jack was next, and Jeremy followed soon after.

Ryan stood to leave, and Michael finally was brought out of his daydream. 

“Hey Ryan.” Michael called out.

“Yeah?” Ryan asked, stopping before the stairs that led up to the bedrooms. 

“I’m sorry for earlier. I think I pissed you off a bit, so yeah.” Michel awkwardly held out his hands, unsure of what to do. “I’m sorry.”

Ryan shrugged and nodded a head towards Gavin, “It’s not me who you need to be apologising too.”

“I was getting to that.” Michael sighed as Ryan left. 

Gavin looked uncomfortable sat at the couch, putting weight onto the balls of his feet every so often as if he was about to stand and leave. 

Michael smiled and stood, heading towards the bar area. He opened a bottle of dark rum and poured a little into two glasses. Walking back towards Gavin, he handed him one of the glasses before sitting at the opposite end of the same sofa as him. 

“I’ll give you credit, you’ve got some sort of deluded confidence.” Michael noted, watching as Gavin sipped at the rum. “You keep toeing the line with me and I’m not sure if it’s because you know I’m not gonna bite, or you don’t care if I do.”

Gavin sheepishly smiled towards Michael, “I think it’s a bit of both.” 

Michael smirked. “You did freak quite a bit last night though.”

“I thought you were gonna punch me!” Gavin countered, throwing a hand up exasperatedly and earning a laugh from Michael. 

“I did think about it.” Michael admitted. 

Gavin seemed intrigued, “Why didn’t you.”

Michael waved a hand towards him, “Look at your dumb face. Imagine how fucked you’d be if I punched that nose.”

Gavin scoffed and looked mildly offended, hiding his grin behind his glace as he took another sip. Michael found himself smiling. How had this fucker weaselled himself into making Michael smile? 

“I guess I should apologise, though.” Michael finally said, “I was quick to judge.” 

Gavin shrugged, “I don’t blame you. It is a bit weird. Especially since you had to jump through so many loops to be accepted whilst I just kind of fell into Geoff’s lap.”

“Why is that? Why does everyone treat you like damaged goods and like they’ve known you forever?” Michael leaned forward, staring at Gavin at the other side of the sofa. 

Gavin rubbed a hand on the back of his neck, obviously uncomfortable. “I guess I’m damaged goods really.” 

“What do you mean?” Michael continued to press for answers, squinting at Gavin who shifted under the gaze. 

“Look.” Gavin sided and dropped his head downwards. “I- I don’t know if I’m ready to talk about it.”

Michael made a disgruntled noise of annoyance, leaning back into the arm of the couch. “That’s bullshit, why the hell does everyone else know?”

“I mean Geoff probably told Jack. And I told Jeremy. And Ryan is just Ryan. I don’t know if he even knows, he just seems to know everything.” 

“So why can’t you tell me?” Michael felt his temper rising. He quickly downed what remained of his drink and walked back towards the bar area. 

“I…” Gavin stuttered and quickly went quiet. 

“I. I. I.” Michael mocked and poured himself another drink. “What is it, cunt?”

Gavin frowned. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you.” 

Gavin set his half-drunk glass of rum on the table and rose to his feet. 

“Night, Michael.” He said and turned to leave, stopping before he reached the staircase. 

He sighed. “I’m sleeping on the sofa until Geoff sorts me a room, so could you?” He pointed towards the staircase and leaned onto the heels of his feet. “Could you leave?”

Michael groaned in annoyance. With the bottle of rum still in his hand he headed towards the staircase. Gavin didn’t flinch when Michael walked past, as Michael had expected. Instead Michael heard a soft sigh, as if he was deflating slowly. 

“Night.” Michael simply stated, before walking up the stairs and leaving Gavin in his wake.


	6. Chapter 6

Michael was grateful when Geoff knocked on his door in the morning, throwing Michael’s leather jacket at his half-awake form. 

“Get up, you’re coming to meet a potential seller with me.” Geoff demanded as Michael rolled out of his bed. 

“I thought you met a seller yesterday.” Michael groaned, trying to hide the excitement that he was getting to go out and do something useful for the crew. 

“I did, but I’m not going to distribute everything through one seller.” He smirked. “I’m going to be distributing anonymously through their competition too.” 

“You’re trying to take control of the whole market?” Michael was impressed. Geoff had always been ambitious when it came to the crew, and whenever the potential for growth came he quickly latched on and built up his empire. This had potential to be a huge boost to their incoming wealth and create tension in smaller drug gangs, unaware that they were all under the thumb of Ramsey and his boys. 

“Only for a little time, just for long enough to get a better idea on where the coke is coming into the island from.” Geoff continued as Michael threw on a pair of jeans over the boxers he slept in. “I’m hoping Gavin being here will make getting information a hell of a lot easier.”

Just the mention of Gavin’s name made a bubble of anger rise in Michael’s stomach, but he burst it with a calming breath. He had to learn to get on with Gavin, despite the obvious lack of trust Gavin showed towards him and the secret that hung in the air. It made him feel like he was stood under a tank which was being held up by a single thread. The ever-looming presence of something dangerous which he could easily send crashing down on himself. He just wanted to know what the fuck was wrong and why no one could trust him with this big secret, and why they all treated Gavin like some sort of golden child. 

“Sounds good.” Michael grunted out, pulling a top over his head, and grabbing his leather jacket off the bed that Geoff had thrown at him. He slipped his feet into his boots, lacing them quickly. “We ready?”

Geoff nodded. They headed to the garage, deciding to take a more civilian looking car. The seller was likely living in a shit hole neighbourhood, as most dealers did in Los Santos. The super cars Geoff loved so much would only draw attention to themselves, and meeting with potential sellers required subtly. They were jumpy people, in a constant half-high from their own stash, paranoid that cops would show if someone spoke too loud. 

They drove towards the Little Seoul district of Los Santos, looping round a few times in order to check for anyone tailing, before pulling up behind a convenience store. They walked for five minutes in the back streets before Geoff knocked on a peeling paint door that was partially hidden from the main view of the street by a skip. 

The door opened, and a scrawny, greasy-haired boy was lit briefly by the midday sun before he quickly made a hand motion for the pair to come in. Michael raised an eyebrow, this was a coke distributor Geoff was seriously considering? 

“You must be Mr. Ramsey.” The boy sniffed out, and pointed towards the sofa for Geoff and Michael to sit at. They both shook their head and the kid shrugged, sitting down himself. “What you got for me then?”

Michael was somewhat shocked at the dealer. Times were changing though, it wasn’t about hitting the streets to sell anymore. You could hide behind a computer screen and sell drugs that way, charisma was no longer the big deal it used to be in the drug trade, it seemed. 

“Some high quality cocaine.” Geoff stated. “A few kilograms of it.”

The dealer seemed intrigued, leaning forward. “Where from?”

“What’s it to you.” Geoff scoffed, arms crossed.

“I just want to know the quality. I don’t want to end up being in debt to you because you’ve got me wack coke that kills people.” The dealer crossed his arms to match Geoff. Michael smirked. Geoff was foreboding with arms crossed and a harsh tone, this kid just seemed like he’d put on his dads work shoes to stomp around and try to be the boss, but ending up falling on his face. It was a hilarious exchange to watch.

“The coke’s good.” Geoff replied, nodding at Michael.

Michael smiled, “Coke is good, can confirm.”

The seller gave Michael a once over, seemingly satisfied that Michael would be the sort to know the quality of coke. “How much do you have for me to sell.”

“How about we start with half a kilogram and see if you can shift it for a neat profit. With today’s market value that should make about $30,000?” 

The dealer nodded, “Give or take. What percentage cut am I getting here.”

“30 percent if you make that $30,000.” Geoff replied, all business now. 

“And if I don’t make $30,000?” 

“We’ll discuss that when we get to it.” Deciding the discussion was over, Geoff turned to leave. “I’ll have someone drop it off by the end of the week.” 

The dealer nodded, visually off put by Geoff’s quiet threat, “Nice doing business with you.” 

“Here’s hoping it goes well.” Geoff nodded, and the boy swallowed. 

Michael and Geoff left the dark room, shutting the door behind them and walking swiftly back to the car. They set off driving, making sure to take their time as usual and not draw attention. 

“You really made that kid paranoid.” Michael snickered as Geoff drove them out of the Little Seoul neighbourhood.

Geoff smiled, “Good. He was getting cocky.”

“Think he’ll make the $30,000?” Michael questioned, resting his feet on the dashboard. He wouldn’t have gotten away with it in one of the super cars, but in this creaky civilian vehicle Geoff didn’t even raise an eyebrow. 

“Easily. He’s gross looking and weird, but he’s got some internet business going on the dark web and makes good money. Means we can track what he’s selling easily too, thanks to Gavin.” Geoff continued, smiling slightly, proud at his own clever idea. 

“Gavin really was a solid pick up for you.” Michael took the mention of Gavin as a chance to delve into this secret. “Why didn’t you move him in with us earlier? You seem pretty close.”

Geoff smiled softly, “Honestly, Mikey. He’s like a son to me.”

“Yet you’ve never introduced us to him.” Michael was confused. Geoff must have hidden Gavin from them for years, maybe even knowing him from before the crew formed. 

Geoff looked sheepish. “Look, it’s not my place to say what happened to him, but Gavin was in some shit when I met him. Some deep shit that even your fucked druggie behaviour doesn’t match.”

Michael scoffed at the statement, and Geoff sighed. 

“This is why he’s nervous. You’re quick to judge, you snap, and I say that with the best intentions.” Geoff explained, glancing from the road to look at Michael sympathetically. “Give him time. He can be trusted, he’s just a little dim sometimes.”

Michael was quiet, inviting Geoff to continue. 

“You’re a bit scary, you have to admit.” Geoff joked, and smiled.

Michael smiled back, “I’m glad I still have that effect on you.”

“You’re a loose cannon. You really are. I can never tell what you’re thinking, and you drive me insane with all the things you abuse.”

“Sorry, Dad.” Michael laughed lightly.

They reached Geoff’s apartment building and he pulled into the garage in silence. He parked it amongst the rest of the cars, turning off the ignition, and turned to Michael. 

“I worry that one day you’re going to self-implode, and you might just take the rest of us down with you.” Geoff said. It wasn’t often Geoff was this sincere, this open, this caring. He meant what he was saying, he did worry so much about the safety of his crew. They were family, dysfunctional, violent, crazy, and entirely explosive, and Geoff cared for every one of them deeply. 

Michael sighed, “I…”

Geoff cut him off with a raise of his hand. “You don’t need to say anything, Mikey. I know.” Michael smiled, grateful that for once Geoff seemed to know what he was thinking. “Just try to tone down the assholeness around Gavvers, alright?”

Michael smiled, “Alright boss, I’ll try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have been ridiculously drunk when I wrote the last chapter, so pardon me if it is really lacking, I daren't go back and look at what shit I wrote. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed the bonding time between Geoff and Mikey boi.


	7. Chapter 7

“Successful trip, boys.” Geoff declared, “That’s two buyers secured.”

Geoff jumped onto one of the couches, leaning back. The rest of the crew were lounging in the living area, watching TV whilst Jack did the dishes, quietly grumbling. Geoff clicked at Michael as he walked into the room. “Get me a drink, partner.”

Michael rolled his eyes but headed to the bar area, pouring himself and Geoff a glass of whiskey each. He handed it to Geoff and took a seat on the opposite sofa. 

“Celebrating?” Ryan asked. His mask was resting on the kitchen counter and the smile on his face was clearly visible.

Geoff raised his glass up before taking a large swig. “We should.” He sat up and beamed at the rest of the gang. “You know what, let’s go out.”

“Go out where?” Jack questioned. Giving up on cleaning the dishes; vastly more interested in the chance of a night out than cleaning.

“Vanilla Unicorn?” Geoff replied with a cheeky grin at the suggestion of the local strip club, “I haven’t had that sort of fun in a while.” 

“Drinks here until it opens?” Jeremy asked, heading towards the bar, and grabbing the rum, already answering his own question. 

Michael’s groan of annoyance was muffled under the cheers from the rest of the crew, as Jeremy opened the rum and downed half of it. Across the room, Gavin had the same response. 

*

Vanilla Unicorn was not an upper-class place. The sign atop the building was faded and cracked, and the red paint was now faded to a burnt orange. It was eleven o’clock when the Fake AH Crew arrived there, the bright neon lights making the strip club stand out against the night. 

A remix of a latest top forty track blasted from the speakers as they walked in, and Michael found himself scrunching his nose at the noise. He always hated coming here. Awful music, tacky décor, filthy bathrooms, and dirty women dry-humping metal poles to make a few dollars. The crew didn’t come often, but when they did most nights ended with him smoulderingly angry and his friends happily drunk and covered in lipstick. 

Geoff nodded to the barman when they entered who recognized him immediately and began sorting drinks. They sat at a booth off to the side of the main stage area, the barman bringing over glasses and a bottle of top shelf liquor quickly. 

Michael poured himself a large glass, drinking fast and shutting his eyes. The flashing neons were giving him a headache already. 

“I’m gonna go…” Geoff drew off, picking up his glass of dark liquid and heading to the sitting area by the stage as a slender brunette clad in red lingerie walked out.   
One by one, the group dispersed. Michael didn’t bother to keep track of their whereabouts, he’d find them making drunken mistakes and take them home later. 

Michael was rubbing at his eyes when he heard Gavin’s British accent over the music. “Headache?”

Michael moved his hand away from his face. Gavin was still sat in the booth, body tense, visually uncomfortable and nervous. 

“I hate coming here.” Michael confessed. “What about you?”

“I…” Gavin shrugged, and Michael swore his cheeks reddened slightly, “I don’t really like girls.”

Michael reached for the bottle of scotch that had been left on the table as the crew disappeared to seek entertainment elsewhere. He topped up his and Gavin’s glass. “Yeah, it’s not for everyone.”

Gavin seemed surprised at Michael’s statement, mouth forming a slight ‘o’ shape as he stared. Michael sipped at his drink, watching Gavin back with equal intrigue. Was that the secret he was so bothered about keeping? He was gay? Michael pondered for a moment. It couldn’t be, he decided. The crew knew Michael never enjoyed coming out here, never brought a girl home like the rest had done. Though Michael had never official ‘come out’ to them, he was fairly sure the crew knew that Michael didn’t really like girls either, so it was unlikely that was the secret Gavin was hiding. 

Michael sighed and Gavin averted his eyes, looking down at his drink and taking a swig. He coughed and spluttered at the taste but continued drinking. 

“You really aren’t comfortable here, are you?” Michael said as Gavin leant across the table to grab the bottle and topped up his glass. 

Gavin shook his head and took another large gulp. 

Michael looked sympathetically at Gavin, watching as he grimaced at the taste again. “Want to get out of here?” 

“What about the rest of them.” Gavin looked worried. 

Michael laughed, “The staff know my phone number, they’ll call me when they get too rowdy. They’d never kick them out. I’m pretty sure Geoff’s wallet is the only reason they’re still in business.”

Gavin smiled at that and nodded. “Sure, let’s go.” 

Grabbing the bottle of scotch, Michael grinned at Gavin and they headed out the front door, waving to the barman as they went. 

*

They walked in silence for a while, Gavin slightly behind as Michael guided the way through the streets of Los Santos. They reached the skate park off Alta Street, only ten minutes or so from the strip club, Michael smiling when he saw it was empty. 

“Hold this.” Michael said, handing the scotch to Gavin before making a run at the half pipe. It took less effort than he thought, making it up onto the deck easily. 

He let his legs dangle down onto the ramp, smiling at Gavin. “You joining me?” 

Gavin grinned back, standing on his tip toes so Michael could lean down and take the bottle off him, before running at the ramp. With an undignified squawk, Gavin slipped on the smooth wood and almost face planted the ramp. 

Michael burst into laughter, face almost hurting as he laughed so hard. Gavin grumbled and climbed back to his feet. He managed to make it up on the second deck, rubbing at his elbow as he sat next to Michael. 

“It’s not that funny, Michael.” He complained, holding up his arm to show Michael the small graze forming on his skin. 

Michael tutted and outstretched his right hand to show the dark scabs on his knuckles, “You totally ate shit, and anyway I got worse when I punched the wall.”

Gavin laughed, “Serves you right.” 

“Yeah, I guess it does.” Michael smiled softly, feeling slightly guilty about how he’d behaved. 

Gavin was swinging his legs, head tilted back to look at the nights sky. There were no stars there, the light pollution from Los Santos smothering any chance at seeing them. 

“Want a drink.” Michael asked, holding the bottle to Gavin. 

“I don’t like drinking too much.” Gavin replied, but took the bottle anyway and sipped. His nose wrinkled, and he gave it back to Michael, who drunk swiftly without so much as a flinch. 

“I do.” Michael replied between drinks. 

“Do you think you drink too much?” Gavin asked. Michael could tell he was nervous asking the question. He was wringing his hands, staring at his feet, and Michael took sympathy. 

“Probably.” He shrugged. “I think the drugs might be more damaging though.” 

Gavin almost flinched at the sentence, reaching back for the bottle, and taking another swig.

“You don’t like drugs, do you.” Michael more stated, than asked. Gavin shook his head. “Yet you’ve been working with us to steal and sell them?”

Gavin let out a chortle, “Yeah, guess it’s a bit stupid, isn’t it?”

Michael chuckled, “It is a bit.”

They dipped into silence. It was comforting, though. They could still hear the racket of the city, but the skate park was isolated enough for it not to be overwhelming. It was a background noise, almost calming as they sat on the deck of the skate ramp. 

“Is that why you won’t tell me about this secret? Is it to do with drugs?” Michael inquired. He mentally kicked himself for asking, thinking back to what Geoff had told him. 

The liquor had seemed to loosen Gavin’s lips though, and he barely seemed to process the question before answering. “A bit.” He paused, frowning. “Well, a lot.”

“Did you used to take drugs?” Michael was inquisitive now, bringing his legs up and turning so he could sit cross-legged and face Gavin. 

“No, never have.” He turned to face Michael, bright eyes almost sad, “My parents did though.”

Michael kept quiet, his gut sinking as he realised where this might be going. 

“They liked the hard stuff. Heroin, cocaine, anything they could get their hands on. Mum used to just pass out and sleep for days at a time, but my Dad…” Gavin took a deep breath and tugged at the sleeves of his jacket. “He got angry. Really angry. He used to hurt me real bad and I thought I deserved it.”   
Gavin laughed, but his eyes were welling up, “I seriously thought it was my fault. How fucked is that? He’d blame his addiction on me and I really believed it was. I mean, I was just a kid, so I didn’t know any better. You believe everything your parents tell you at that age, and I would…” 

Michael swallowed as Gavin sniffed, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hands to stop any tears falling. 

“What did you do?” Michael asked, almost reaching a hand out to touch Gavin’s shoulder, but deciding against it at the last second. 

Gavin laughed again, that broken, choked out laugh. He was trying to stop himself crying, trying to hide the pain by making a joke out of it almost, but Michael wasn’t laughing. 

“I did what dumb kids do when they’re depressed and scared.” He rolled up his sleeve, looking away from the skin and holding his arm out towards Michael.   
Even in the starless night Michael could see the raised, pale skin that darted across Gavin’s arms. They were old, faded, but the sheer number of them made the pain seem so present. Michael reached out, running his finger over the rough skin. 

“I’m so sorry.” Michael said softly, spreading his hands and trying to cover the scars. He could almost feel the pain seeping out of them, the memories of something so awful that Michael could never fully emphasize with. No wonder Gavin behaved as he did around him, no wonder he kept this secret from him. Michael was angry, he was violent, he was an addict who quickly snapped, he was a constant reminder to Gavin of his fucked-up Dad. “I’m really sorry.” 

Gavin shook his head, “It’s not your fault.”

“No, no, but I’ve been such a cunt and I must have scared you so much when I punched that damn wall.” Michael looked up from his hands, still spread over Gavin’s arms, and looked to Gavin’s face, “Yet you stood up to me. You were fucking terrified and you stood up to me.”

Gavin smiled and shrugged, “I mean what else was I supposed to do.”

Michael stared, almost dumbfounded at the nonchalance of Gavin. He was gawky, awkward, with his green eyes wet with tears threatening to fall, and Michael realised why everyone looked after him. Gavin had seen the worst of humans, he’d been through so much pain, he’d been so damaged, yet he kept going and smiled everyday like nothing was wrong. It was damn impressive, and Michael felt so sick knowing that he’d been a constant reminder of the man who once hurt him. 

“Gavin, you’re incredible.” Michael admitted. 

Gavin blushed, “I’m alright.”

Michael laughed, “Okay, you’re alright.”

Gavin frowned, “Hey, you can’t take it back!”

“You were the one who downgraded yourself.” Michael was smiling widely as Gavin attempted to strop, but he quickly gave up and smiled back. 

“Thanks, Michoo’” 

“Michoo?” Michael was laughing again, “What is that?”

Gavin faked offense at Michael’s laughed, “That’s your nickname now.”

Michael shook his head, “Sure, whatever, Gavvy-Wavvy.” 

“I like that.” Gavin tilted his head, smiling ever so slightly. “Guess you are as nice as everyone said you were.”

“Alright, well cats out of the bag, seems I need to up the assholeness.” 

“Michoo?”

“Yes?” 

“Shut up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was pretty cute. my last chapter was a lot better, but i enjoyed writing this a lot.


End file.
